The Night before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas and down the rain poured,

Black cloud coated skies as the icy wind roared,

But in slippers and snow-patterned socks sitting cosy

Were a family of five with their cheeks red and rosy.

Mum and Dad on one sofa, wearing festive red hats,

On the other with antlers, sat Jack, Luke and Nats.

Warm jumpers with reindeer and snowmen aplenty,

Adorned by each member and cost just over twenty.

Frank Capra’s big hit is our festive selection,

A film so fantastic it’s close to perfection.

‘It’s A Wonderful Life!’ George Bailey maintains,

“I’m off to the pub!” my brother exclaims.

A large glass of Baileys for the girls if you please,

Whilst holding off thoughts of the January squeeze.

Christmas songs blaring, Cliff, Wizzard and Slade,

The Pogues, The Pretenders, Bing Crosby, Band Aid.       

“I was friends with George Michael before the Wham! days,”

Dad waffles on proudly as 'Last Christmas' plays.

Stockings hung high and the presents wrapped neatly,

Laying soft in our beds all dreaming so sweetly

Of bright festive cheer on a grand Christmas morning.

Dawn not yet broken, tired eyes droop and yawning,

Reluctantly tearing away from warm covers,

First down the stairs is the younger of brothers.

And what should he find but a marvellous sight,

His face fills with joy and true festive delight,

As his eyes meet upon treats piled up so tall,

Stacks upon stacks of both gifts big and small.

Embellished with glitter and tied up in a bow,

With scarlet red ribbons and sparkle for show.

An empty plate left where a mince pie has been

For grand old Saint Nick who had licked the plate clean.

An empty glass drained of a Winter night's fuel,

Delivering gifts in the season of Yule.

The bells sounding softly with reindeer in flight,

Attached to the sleigh on a cold frosty night.

Church bells a-ringing as Christmas morn breaks,

With each child, ecstatic, in bed quickly wakes.

Playing with toys so impressive and new,

Not one of them naughty with no coal in view.

Thrilled and contented, each wears a large grin,

Dad making the coffee, Mum starting on gin.

Our spirits not dampened by wet windy weather,

That festive cheer oozing all snuggled together,

While watching those classics, a mince pie in hand,

Sing carols much louder than vocals can stand.

“Christmas is here!” we proclaim with such glee.

The best Christmas yet it is sure set to be.

Top ten tracks for a top twelve months.

December is a list-writing month. We read lists and we write lists all month long. List after list after list. Christmas lists, shopping lists, to-do lists and still-left-to-do lists and Oh-My-God-I-have-too-much-to-do lists. It's a wonder we ever get anything done at Christmas in our refusal to be parted with our precious collection of post-it notes.

This week, NME followed suit and wrote a list of their own - a list of 50 Best Albums of 2013, beginning on a high with James Blake's Mercury Prize winning masterpiece Overgrown and awarding the spectacular Arctic Monkeys album AM the number one spot.

The great thing about a list like this is that it can highlight the songs and albums which have formed the soundtrack to your year, neatly categorising from top to bottom, from worst to best. It allows us to fondly recall what was going on in our lives when that record came out, where we were and how we were feeling when we heard that song for the first time. It works as a sort musical epitome of the past twelve months, counting down from 50 to 1.

The even better thing about a list like this is that it is subjective. Particular tracks mean particular things to particular people; music has the power to trigger memories, old and new, individual or collective. By all means, it's advocated that we acknowledge what music critics have to say; they claim to be experts, after all. But their opinions should never categorically define what is good and what is not - it's crucial that you are able to develop and form your own perspective without letting others do the work on your behalf.

Read the NME list, but I encourage you to consider what would be in your own. A bit like I have.

* * *

These are my own choices, not in chronological order...

1. Daft Punk - 'Get Lucky'. I'm admittedly still not tired of this song. April 2013 saw the long-awaited return of the famous French house music duo Daft Punk, and they did not disappoint by any means. This track works a fantastic reminder of a long car journey I had with my best friend in July - we had this song on repeat and we both felt pretty cool singing along as we drove down the M2. Probably didn't look it though.

2. Foals - Holy Fire. I have always been a huge fan of Foals and this is without a doubt their greatest work yet, 'My Number' being the best song on this album and my favourite song of this year. In March I found myself under a great deal of stress with assignments piling up high around me, but this was the album that kept me sane. Pure gold.

3. Arctic Monkeys - AM. Unquestionably the best album of the year. Every single track is outstanding and kept me entertained as I walked back and forth from work over the summer. My walk to work is approximately seven minutes long, so starting with 'Do I Wanna Know?' at 7:45am on a Monday I'd finish off beautifully with 'I Wanna Be Yours' by 4:10pm on a Wednesday afternoon, then begin the cycle again till the end of the week. (My summer was manifestly more thrilling than most, try not to be too impressed).

4. Arcade Fire - Reflektor. Released at the end of October, this double album is truly fantastic and has been played repeatedly on my iPod for the past few weeks. Get it in your life, but bear in mind it's massive. If you want to hear it in one sitting, which I would personally suggest, it's a good one to save for long car/train journeys, or a standard "I'm doing absolutely nothing today" Sunday.

5. Kings of Leon - 'Supersoaker'. This is the lead single from the band's sixth studio album Mechanical Bull, released in July and I adore it. XFM's Jon Holmes went through a phase of playing this track nearly every morning which made me very very happy. They also sounded fantastic on Later with Jools Holland a few months ago.

6. Tom Odell - 'Can't Pretend'. The first single of the singer-songwriter which I have been banging on about since the start of the year.  His album 'Long Way Down' was released during a 4 week period in which I was at home over the summer and will always remind me of being there with my brothers soaking in the sunshine in our back garden.

Tom has had an interesting twelve months with mixed reviews - he began on a high, winning the BRIT's Critics Choice Award in February, but found himself subject to heavy criticism in June after receiving an unbelievable 0/10 rating for his debut album from NME journalist Mark Beaumont. He quickly turned things around, however, scoring the number 1 spot on the Official UK Album Chart in July. He's even been on a date with Taylor Swift, although that hardly makes him one of a kind.

7. Vampire Weekend - 'Diane Young'. I listened to this song again and again and again during my four day trip to Rome in June. Quirky, fun and simply brilliant, as is the rest of the album Modern Vampires of the City. Highly recommended.

8. The Vaccines - 'Bad Mood'. An ideal song to stomp around the house to if your current temperament matches that of the song title. This track came out in March earlier this year and, much like Holy Fire, kept me going during those horrible few weeks of assignment writing. My friend Daisy and I also saw The Vaccines live in May and they were outstanding. And I can confirm Freddie Cowan is even more beautiful in person.

9. The 1975 - 'Chocolate'. Released at the start of 2013, this song was also the soundtrack to assignment writing/stressing and wanting to quit. Admittedly I was a little disappointed with their album, but this track and 'Sex', the band's third single, are very very good.

10. Swiss Lips - 'U Got The Power'. Something a bit different - this band were tipped in March by BBC Introducing, following a week of daily airplay on Radio 1 after being chosen as Scott Mills' Record of the Week. The video is amazing and the track itself is even better. Big things expected.

11. Robin Thicke - 'Blurred Lines'.

Only joking.

The Christmas Cake Waltz

This year I reluctantly signed up to a Creative Writing module on my course at University, and recently we were set a task to write a piece to submit and have our classmates read and evaluate.

As you'd expect, upon hearing that I had to do this I went into panic mode, wondering how in the hell I was ever going to pull this off.

However, I've somehow managed to produce this and thought I'd might as well post it on here as well before it gets ripped apart by my tutor and fellow Creative Writing students.

Enjoy!

Sugar, eggs, butter, flour and spice

Blended together with smells to entice

And tantalise the tongues of the hungry and needy,

The famished and ravenous, so eager and greedy.

The sugar, a temptress and so sweet a dame,

Seducing one’s lips like a moth to a flame,

Crystalline capsules of charm and allure

White in their colour, exquisite and pure

Glistening like jewels in a chest full of treasure

In jumps the salt, a pinch for good measure.

A sly Casanova, a sleaze of a soul,

The butter is next to flop into the bowl,

Oily in looks, slick and sebaceous

Wooing the sugar, his nature flirtatious

Ever so charmed by his flavoursome taste

The two are combined in a velvety paste.

Erupting with envy, the covetous flour

Emits its full rage in a powdery shower,

In true disbelief that her heart seems to flutter

At the unsightly view of this devious butter

The texture turns thick as the powder is blended

With wishes and hopes that the feud can be ended.

The batter takes shape but growing in density

Hostility reaches new heights of intensity,

In need of appeasement, four eggs are invited

And in the spoon’s dance their fuse is ignited,

Conjoining components, on fingers so runny

On eyes golden yellow and dripping like honey.

Yet lacking in zest and sweet Christmas savour

This cake yearns for sparkle, a sharp pungent flavour,

Dates, nuts, sultanas and scarlet red cherries

With currants and raisins, a helping of berries

Soaking in brandy and poured with a splatter

Into the bowl and then mixed with the batter.

Spooned from the bowl and laid into a tin,

Ready and waiting, the bake can begin,

Into the oven, so torrid and steamy,

The mixture rests quietly, its texture so creamy

Transforming from dough to sponge light and fluffy,

An afternoon cooking, the oven now stuffy.

Five hours pass and the timer is sounded,

The scent overwhelming, the cake is abounded

With spices from heaven and perfumes galore,

Aromas so gorgeous that guests cry for more,

Cooling completed, the icing placed gently

And each decoration laid down so intently

Holly leaves carved with meticulous flair,

Lettering piped with precision and care

With wishes of bliss and such bright festive cheer,

Raise a large glass to a happy new year,

The guests take a slice and bite into their treat

With the cake now completed and ready to eat.

A generation of social networking suckers

At the start of this month, I started my third and final year of University, which I find to be very weird. In fact, if I was given a £10 note for every time I have uttered the words "I can't believe it's nearly all over, how very very weird" in the last four months, I imagine I'd be snapping at the heels of Mark Zuckerberg on the Forbes' World's Billionaire List for 2014.

Still, in spite of this typically sarcastic declaration, Zuckerberg's mind-blowingly successful social networking phenomenon leaves me with a fair amount to thank him for.

Facebook has had an overwhelming effect on University life over the past five years, making it far easier to expand our social circles, communicate with our course-mates and stay connected with friends and family from back home. My own Mother, a self-proclaimed "hater" of Facebook, even signed up when I moved away as she knew it was a much simpler way of keeping in contact with me.

Catching up with friends over Skype or over the phone usually means recapping what they have already seen on their news feeds; our society has seemingly adopted this new philosophy that we need to tell the world what we are doing each and every minute of each and every day. Since the site's 2004 launch, we have fallen victim to this pathetic necessity to share every experience, photo, 'hilarious' quip or story with those we are virtually connected with on the site. And few can deny that warm glow of feeling appreciated when a fellow Facebooker 'likes' or comments on something you have posted - oh, what shallow creatures we have become.

Nonetheless, have we ever questioned what life would be like at University without Facebook? To what extent would University life be affected without it to keep us connected to the outside world?

In a survey I conducted amongst my own Facebook friends, 60% said they thought University would be considerably worse without the social networking site, with others stating they thought it would be perhaps "socially worse, but academically better". Suffice to say, Facebook is a popular source of procrastination when there are deadlines to meet and exams to revise for. I'm even signed into Facebook at this very moment as I write this post.

In truth, it is part of this whole fear of "missing out". The harsh reality of it is without an account you are, to some extent, cut off. Facebook is utilised as a way of sharing and discussing ideas and problems on course-related groups, finding out about Student Union events, befriending those in your sports team or society and obtaining the details for meetings, socials and get-togethers. We create Facebook events for days out, nights out and birthdays - the suits at WH Smiths must be tearing their hair out as sales of party invitations in their greetings card department continue to plummet into near nothingness. Not to mention the advantages, though more than often in my case, disadvantages of photo sharing and the entertainment you get from looking at those snaps from the night before, struggling desperately to remember the names of those girls you became best friends with in the toilet and took thousands of pictures with to mark the occasion.

Facebook offers its users the opportunity to create better versions of who they truly are; the ingredients to emitting a more vibrant, fun and flourishing social life are handed to us on a plate - all we have to do is utilise them in the correct manner.

And while we hate to admit it, the social networking site consumes far more of our time than we may initially realise; the average Facebook user spends a total of 20 billion minutes on the website per day. Since Facebook was launched in February 2004, 1.5 billion of us have been posting, liking, sharing and poking (the latter applies to a mere disturbed few) online, with few of us able to go 24 hours without checking our news feed at least once.

Is Facebook making obsessive, robotic fools of us all?

I would love to say no. But if you don't click the like button when you've finished reading, I will be most upset.

Coldplay, the lovable nerds of the music industry.

Coldplay's "Atlas" (not to be confused with the classic Etta James song "At Last" which I foolishly keep typing by mistake) was released earlier this month, recorded for the soundtrack of the greatly anticipated second installment of the The Hunger Games trilogy, Catching Fire. Granted, it is no "Yellow" or "Fix You", not even close, but it does hold a certain dreamy, mesmirising quality which we can only speculate will capture the dramatic, adventure-driven essence of the movie it is written for.

This is the first we have heard from Coldplay since last July, and I for one am slightly disappointed by the shocking lack of promotion or press the band have received in their return to the British music scene, perhaps overshadowed by the storm of excitement brewing around fellow Brit musicians Arctic Monkeys and their latest record AM.

Admittedly, Coldplay are and always have been regarded as the softer, weedier schoolchildren in the playground who nobody would ever like to admit being friends with - most demonstrate a level of acknowledgement and respect but the band has never upheld a reputation quite cool enough to hang out with the popular kids of Britpop, the likes of The Verve, Suede, Blur and Oasis. By no means are they disliked - devotees who display the utmost admiration and respect for Coldplay, myself included, stand proudly in their millions, and the band have performed and sold out all over the world.

And yet a smudge of animosity towards Coldplay still exists, with others utilising the label of "guilty pleasure" - all you need to do is type 'I hate Coldplay' into your search engine to discover vast collections of merchandise with such words printed on them in all their glory - badges, posters, t-shirts, the latter of which I should mention are also available for babies and small children, if you so wish for your hatred of Chris and the gang to spiral down the family tree from generation to generation. Let's not even get started on Noel Fielding's feelings.

But as a band I grew up listening to, not through a choice of my own, but of my Dad's, I have always loved Coldplay and to be perfectly honest, the opinions of other people have never been an issue. So with no hidden agenda or plan to convert you in mind, I have written a list of reasons why Coldplay aren't actually that bad really, and maybe (just maybe) they might start to gain a little of the respect they wholeheartedly deserve.

1. Coldplay write songs for the masses, appealing to a wide audience without turning their backs on their alternative fan base who have followed religiously since the band's formation in 1996, unlike other artists who have shaped their sound to become more radio-friendly e.g. Eminem, Biffy Clyro, Muse, the list goes on.

2. Many consider their music to be depressing and melancholic, but by listening to the lyrics you might be surprised to discover the majority of their songs are rather uplifting and optimistic in the messages and stories they deliver to their audience. Mylo Xyloto is an album which holds the power to brighten my mood at any time of day in most circumstances.

3. They know how to put on a show. As a live band, they are visually and audibly breathtaking; I only wish that I could speak from personal experience. Unfortunately I have never been to a Coldplay gig and must rely on hearsay, but consider the fact that they have been Glastonbury headliners three times and it makes perfect sense.

4. They write their own music; music is an art to them. Lyrics hold far greater power when they are genuine and actually bare a certain level of significance to the person who is singing them, and this is something Coldplay capture impeccably.

5. They have grown as a band, but not to the extent that they no longer sound like themselves. Beginning with the rockier, edgier tone of Parachutes, Rush of Blood To The Head and X&Y, moving onto the darker yet somehow pop-pier sound of Viva La Vida, and contrasting with the lighter and brighter sound of Mylo Xyloto, Coldplay clearly demonstrate how they have matured and developed over the last decade and a half.

6. We might wince at the likes of Bono and Thom Yorke forcing feeding us about the plights of ending poverty and stopping war, but Chris Martin and co. enjoy getting involved with and raising the awareness of such charities as Oxfam and WaterAid without shoving it down the throats of their audience.

7. Coldplay are respectful towards the work of other people and their preferred musical genres, and very rarely do we hear of them speaking negatively about fellow musicians. As a band they are open-minded and understand that every artist has their own unique way of producing music, and their own unique idea of how music should sound and what it should say to its audience.

8. The band have managed to bag 7 Grammy Awards and 8 Brit Awards during their 17 years in the music industry. Rolling Stone even voted them 4th Best Band of the Decade, and Rush of Blood To The Head was also selected as favourite album of all time by the listeners of BBC Radio 2.

Not bad for a bunch of soft weedy school kids.

RIP Mick Deane

Today I woke up to the very sad news that Sky News cameraman Mick Deane has been shot dead whilst covering the violent protests in Cairo, Egypt. Deane had worked with Sky News for fifteen years and has been described by his colleagues as a "brilliant journalist" who was "as brave as a lion".

Like many it really got me thinking about the ways in which journalists like him put their lives at risk so that we in the UK can be made aware of what is happening in and around the world. We manifestly see news correspondents on the television but it is so easy to forget that there are several others behind the camera, who are too demonstrating great courage by working in such dangerous conditions.

These men and women are there by choice, but it is the selfless reasoning behind the choice they have made which I find to be even more inspiring. They have a job to do, as Mick Deane did, and they do it bloody well.

My thoughts go out to Mick Deane's family at this difficult time. Rest in peace.

Filming at gigs - isn't it better to live in the moment?

A band you love and worship have announced they're going on tour, and like any crazed fanatic, you are up at the crack of dawn on ticket release day to ensure you and your mates will be there to see it. It's a stressful procedure; you have a thousand and one tabs open. You've prayed more times in one morning than you ever have in your life that your computer can withstand the pressure and won't inconveniently crash. The refresh button has been pressed so many times that it feels as though your index finger has undergone an intense workout and is starting to ache from all the clicking.

But in being successful you feel a huge wash of relief, happiness and excitement - it's not long before your friends are jabbering down the phone about how much they love you. Before you know it, you're on your way to the venue about to witness a truly magical music experience.

Only to stand there throughout the entire thing with your camera in the air, watching the gig through a tiny screen.

The ongoing debate of whether or not you should film at gigs is perplexing if anything, but it's understandable why people do it to a certain extent. (I've even been guilty of it myself on one or two occasions). While you're in that moment there is nothing you want more than to freeze the picture, so you can hold onto the feeling and experience of being there and feeling so alive. Recording on your camera or mobile offers you that opportunity, and in filming the gig you are awarded the privilege of reliving it again and again, without having to depend upon your own hazy recollections.

And yet, in looking back at your videos the next morning, you realise that your attempts were a total waste of your time, and rather than watching through a small screen, you should have saved your battery and watched the gig itself. The quality is lost, the sound isn't the same and your memories are tainted by what you are seeing on your computer the next day rather than what you saw with your own eyes the night before. Which leads me to question: why bother?

Most musicians tend to ask the same. NME posted a great little video on their website this week, in which several artists gave their opinions on the issue.

While most stated they didn't mind it, they unanimously agreed that it is more important to "live in the moment" and "just go and experience the gig" rather than film it on your mobile.

Yannis Philippakis, lead singer of Foals, brilliantly added: "it's part of the wider temptation of go round an aquarium taking photos instead of looking at the fish." Witnessing something through the lenses in your eyes is far greater than seeing it through the lens in a camera.

Essentially, in the words of Johnny Marr, "you should put your phone down, because you're being a dick."

"Music is art, and art is for all"

Today's post is a sort of continuation from a small piece I wrote a couple of months ago called "Age isn't a number in the world of radio", discussing the ongoing battle between ageism and the BBC. Older fans of Radio 1 have recently been banished and booted out in the hope of lowering the age of the average listener, and in all honesty it's a bit bloody unfair.

The notion of music in terms of what it represents and how it moves and influences us has always been a topic of interest to me, and I find it so fascinating that in its unknown abundance of power, it can quite easily change the way in which we think and communicate with one another.

But before I go off on a tangent and begin waffling about how music is more than just noise and sound etc. etc., I'm going to avert your attention to a matter of contention which has infuriated me a little this afternoon. Said matter relates to an article written by former Labour MP Tom Watson in this month's edition of NME, which is released tomorrow, who has stated he is "still cringing at the thought of Gordon Brown listening to Arctic Monkeys."

Watson, who discusses the relationship between musicians and politicians in his piece, further conveys that "we all squirmed when David Cameron tried to pose as a Radiohead fan. It just doesn't wash. Don't even go there with The Jam and The Smiths."

But if anything it proves he's a goddamn human - with excellent music taste. No individual should be subjected to judgement or bullying in relation to the bands and artists they listen to, and to base these judgements upon a person's occupation is even more ridiculous. David Lister stated in an article in The Independent earlier this year that "music is art, and art is for all". In essence, both David Cameron and Gordon Brown have just as much right to enjoy the music they love as any other person.

While it may not seem like it sometimes, politicians are people as well.

I would like to know who in the heck Tom Watson thinks he is to judge and discuss who and what other people listen to. He may be convinced he's one of the cool kids but his little whinge has merely proven that he is an immature and narrow-minded moron.

Fifteen minutes till the fame game ends.

2013 has seen the official birth of the media hate figure, and like selfies and the norovirus (the former abundant in egotism, the latter infested with germs), they are absolutely everywhere.

They are on your television, on your radio, in your newspaper and your magazines. They are the ones who jumped the queue to fame, the ones who took Andy Warhol’s “fifteen minutes” and chose to haggle for an extra thirty seconds. They are the ones who are willing to face hostility and belligerence from British public at whatever cost, all for the sake of that brief, unique flash under the spotlight.

Like the norovirus – their vulgarity is copious. Like the selfie – well, nobody’s seen quite that much vanity seen Narcissus discovered himself.

Current Queen of the media hate figures exists in the form of Katie Hopkins, who this month riled viewers of ITV’s This Morning by declaring that she would not allow her children to play with others who had “the wrong name”. Her comments sent the British public into an indignant frenzy, with the interview reaching a staggering 11 million views on YouTube.

“I am only saying what everyone else thinks”, she said.

Samantha Brick stimulated outcry on a similar scale in 2012 after writing a piece in the Daily Mail about being hated by other women “for no other reason than my lovely looks”. The article, which stocked up 1.5 million hits on the Mail Online website, saw Ms Brick whining about the detriments of her beauty as though they were on a par with physical deformities. Almost 5000 readers took to the website to share their thoughts on Brick’s egotism with the majority labelling her “deluded” with a “forgettable face”. 

But despite her narcissism it is crucial to acknowledge the true, underlying purpose of Ms Brick's article. It is, after all, her responsibility to produce pieces which not only promote the paper she is writing for but herself as a journalist. The writing world is a dog-eat-dog industry and working for a publication like The Daily Mail means you must fight tooth and nail for your place among some of the most controversial journalists in the country. It is, therefore, the big sell which lies at the forefront of her priorities, whether she believes herself to be good looking or not.

Let us of course not forget Liz Jones, the despondently cynical shrew who confessed in a 2011 Mail article to stealing sperm from two of her partners to get herself pregnant. The purpose of the article was to warn other men about the "dirty tricks" women can play on their boyfriends or husbands (as if men need another reason to think all women are psychotic, cheers Liz).

This piece is not the first of hers to have ruffled a few feathers, but it is for this reason that she has achieved such a successful career as both a columnist and editor. Like Samantha Brick, we don’t read her work because we like or agree with her, but because we are so engrossed by what she has to say.

And yet one tumultuous bout of public animosity still isn't adequately satisfying. These three love-to-hate figures have each scored book deals to have their tactless, brutal viewpoints bound, published and sold across the country. Katie Hopkins launched "The Class Book of Baby Names" shortly after her appearance on This Morning, which reached 10 million hits in just four days. Samantha Brick's first memoir, "Head Over Heels in France" hit book stores in April, while Liz Jones has released three autobiographies, among other books, disclosing her personal life onto paper.

These are women who know what they are doing and will stop at nothing to get what they want, regardless of who gets hurt in the process. In spite of the backlash, they are nearly always successful. But fads never last, and as with every fad the public will get bored of you.

It's called fifteen minutes of fame for that reason alone, and in retrospect, to waste it on cynicism is a bit damn foolish.

But who am I to judge?

"Books are the stepping stones of imagination".

I've loved books for as long as I can remember. As a child, my parents and I would read Shirley Hughes, Janet and Allan Ahlberg, Lyn Wendon, Michael Rosen and Val Biro, the latter of which visited my primary school when I was six and kindly signed my 'Gumdrop Goes To School' book for me.

Books have always been a huge part of my life and I simply adored the way in which they would teach me new things and open up my imagination. Reading gave me the encouragement to write my own little collection of short stories, which I would jot down in a purple notepad and hide underneath my pillow. My stories would be about daft little adventures which I could only wish to be a part of - a girl called Jenny who was forever on holiday, travelling from place to place, hotel to hotel, never having to go to school. Georgina who lived with her family in a village on top of the trees in a forest (the technical impossibilities in this one were astonishing). My favourite and the most ridiculous of the lot was about a girl called Amber, who for her birthday had S Club 7 visit her house and announce that they were going to be moving in. (Judge all you want, S Club 7 were undeniably brilliant). 

Until I was about eleven years old I always thought I was going to be an author, and I had a plan that my brother would illustrate the stories I'd written because he was, and still is, so brilliant at drawing. We would become a dynamic and unstoppable book-producing team, creating beautiful and enchanting universes, magical creatures, and fantastically bold and enthralling characters. Reading was just what I did, and unveiling the depths of an author's creative mind is what fed me the passion to formulate and explore my own.

When I moved up to senior school I decided I didn't want to write fiction anymore, and I turned my interests to writing non-fiction. My magical stories and poems were discontinued and instead I fell in love with writing in a style suitable for newspapers, magazines and blogs like this one. In spite of this, my passion for reading was still strong, and I had become sucked into the Jacqueline Wilson teenage stereotype. Oddly I was never drawn to Harry Potter, but I had since become a fan of Lemony Snicket's works as well as Louise Rennison and Meg Cabot. In the words of my English teacher, "trash fiction".

A few years later, I chose to study English Literature at A Level, and then again for my degree at University. Literature was the only subject I was really any good at, and in truth selecting it had become a natural instinct. The irony was, I had started to hate books.

Reading had quickly become a chore. A piece of homework. A murky scribble on my To Do list continually put off time and time again just because I simply did not want to do it. It was heartbreaking, because something which I used to love so much had so rapidly become something I had grown to loathe. I wasn't enjoying being told what I had to read and how long I had to do it. Literature should offer the freedom to enjoy a book at a pace you find comfortable, without the overwhelming pressure of a deadline hanging over you. But sadly that's not how an English degree works - you have a target to meet and if you fail to meet that target, you get left behind.

So at the start of this summer holiday, I finally decided enough was enough, and I set myself a mission to fall in love with books again. And while it's a shame that re-reading my collection of Shirley Hughes and Michael Rosen would not be in my best interests, the beauty of imagination is that it is not an age-restricted privilege. The novels I read as an adult can be just as magical and enchanting, if I open my mind a little and give them the chance they deserve. With an alteration in my attitude, reading can and will become a hobby I learn to love again. 

All it will take is the right book to get me there.

July

It's July and can you believe the sun is shining?! ☼ ☼ ☼

This past month has been a bit up-and-down. A few weeks ago I decided to get a nose piercing, which has now gone after I accidentally knocked it out a week later. One Friday I had arranged to go for lunch with my best friend, and to cut a long story short, it concluded with me sat on a bench in the local piercing shop with a needle going through my nose. I had been contemplating having it done for a long while but I was finally plucking up the courage to go ahead with it - as spontaneous as ever - although from past experience, that's usually the best way to go about it. It was my tenth piercing so I thought by now I'd have adjusted to the pain a little more, but that was definitely not the case. It was still as painful as the first.

As you would expect, neither my parents nor my grandparents were particularly happy but I did receive the "I suppose you're twenty now and it's your nose blah blah blah" speech. And amidst all the chaos it ended up falling out six days later when I was washing my face and had forgotten it was there. I spent about half an hour trying desperately to fix it before acknowledging I looked better without it anyway.

It was also my best friend Alice's birthday last Thursday and like me she chose to go to the zoo to celebrate, because let's face it, there is no better place to spend your 20th birthday than surrounded by crowds of screaming children and animals that can kill you. We saw everything from giraffes, lions, hippos, penguins, otters, parrots, and all in all had such a fantastic day. My friend Rachel and I decided it would be a great idea to go into one of the little tunnels inside the meerkat enclosure, before realising it was full of kids and impossible to move around without flattening one of them in the process (the kids that is, not the meerkats). We both got into a bit of a fluster trying to escape, to the extent that at one point I forgot I was inside a tunnel, tried to stand up and cracked my head on the ceiling. Ouch.

The tennis came to a climactic end yesterday and what a way to finish with Andy Murray becoming the first British Men's Singles Champion in 77 years! 

Watching Wimbledon over the last couple of weeks has been the only thing keeping me from going mad with boredom, and to have it draw to such a fantastic close really was pretty special. It was also incredible to see Marion Bartoli become the Women's Singles Champion on Saturday afternoon; both her and Sabine Lisicki put in an amazing effort but in the end it seems the best woman won. 

More good news to report because somehow, I don't know how, I managed to get a 2:1 in my second year of Uni which is an absolute miracle. My organisation with assignments this year has been nothing short of shambolic because I'm hopelessly slow and picky when it comes to essay writing. I can spend so long composing half a sentence that I end up running out of time and all my other assignments start piling up around me. But regardless of that, I passed, and I'm very very happy. :). 

(Look this paragraph even gets a little smiley face, that's how happy I am). 

And finally, it's my fantastic Mum's birthday today so HAPPY BIRTHDAY Ali Keeler you nutter, have a super day in the sunshine xxx

Nats. X

How Tom Odell brought back Happy Nats

Today I was a bit down in the dumps.

This wasn't for any particular reason – nothing tragic has happened – but I just really needed cheering up. Those who know me tend to recognise me as the ‘mad happy, smiley person’, but today I was not really feeling my usual smiley self. I needed someone or something to make this mad smile come back.

So in an attempt to brighten my mood, I decided to sit in my garden this evening, listen to my iPod, and write. At Uni, evenings can be mad but while I’m at home, they are the most peaceful time of the day.

I was having one of those days when I just needed to zone out and forget about all the stupid stresses and worries that are going round my head at the moment – they are things which seem so silly but that doesn't stop you thinking about them. Acknowledging the pettiness of your problems doesn't make them go away or make you feel any better.

It’s the end of the day and everyone is tired. The air is cool in the garden and the sun is starting to set. The birds are chirping away like they always are – I’m often convinced they’re having some form of domestic dispute because they can make such a racket, far more than is considered normal. Or maybe some kind of singing practice is occurring. Who knows? They’re birds for crying out loud. I’m going off the subject.

NME posted a review the other day about an artist who is fast becoming one of my new favourites. His name is Tom Odell. He's a friend of my friend’s girlfriend, he has blonde floppy hair and a voice so beautifully powerful that he could sing you Ba Ba Black Sheep and convince you that it’s the most sublime piece of music ever heard by human ears.

Sadly that’s only my opinion, and suffice to say I don’t think NME’s Mark Beaumont would agree with me.

I say this because Beaumont gave Tom a grand total of 0/10 in his review of the long-awaited debut album Long Way Down, which was released yesterday. He said it was too dull. Too mainstream. Too boring.

And when I read this review, it made me feel a little bit sad. I've been a fan of Tom’s since Christmas, when it was announced that he had been shortlisted as a nominee for the Brits Critics Choice Awards for 2013. Like many others, I've been eagerly anticipating his album for months.

So to read such a painfully negative review from the so-called music oracle definitely put me on a bit of a downer. Was it really that bad?

Well, in a word – no. Not really. Not even a little bit. Did Beaumont receive the correct copy of this album? Has Tom checked? I think he should.

To put it into a simple sentence – Long Way Down is absolutely beautiful. I adore absolutely every song and for me that’s a very rare occurrence. 

Tom has added a blend of ballads including 'Sense', 'Heal', 'Stay Tonight' and 'Grow Old With Me', as well as the more upbeat 'I Know', 'Hold Me' and 'Sirens'. Regardless of tempo or style, each and every song has a unique element of mellowness and serenity which is breathtaking, and just what I needed this evening to feel good again.

And now as I sit here on the bench in my garden jotting down these thoughts on a pad of paper, listening to Tom's album, I think I can finally say I’m Happy Nats again.

Much better.

Nats. X

When in Rome, literally.

With my holiday history on record, it's obvious I am certainly not a well-travelled individual, primarily down to my constant lack of money and terrible organisation skills. I've been to France and Germany a few times and I've even visited Greece on a couple of occasions before it got economically flushed down the toilet. However, until last Thursday, I hadn't actually been on a foreign holiday with my family for 11 years, so when my parents suggested a trip to Rome to celebrate their 25th Wedding Anniversary, naturally my brothers and I jumped at the chance.

I know what you're thinking and I know it sounds terrible - my brothers and I essentially gatecrashed our Mum and Dad's anniversary holiday, but we were all actually invited. I still don't really know why. But we certainly weren't complaining, and we certainly weren't stupid enough to turn down a free holiday.

We touched down in the sunny capital on Thursday and were immediately struck by the heat as we came off the plane. The weather in Rome was proper Summer weather - none of that ridiculous English rubbish with overcast skies and the odd burst of sunshine which lasts about five seconds before disappearing behind an enormous grey cloud. It stayed at 32°C for most of our trip and with the sun shining down on us, we were as happy as clams.

The second thing which struck me was the immense beauty of the architecture and landscape as we travelled closer to the heart of the city via train on the way to our hotel. It was simply breathtaking. Just from looking at the buildings you could see the history and the way in which it had been so well preserved.

When we finally got off the train and started walking around the city in search of our hotel, my Dad decided to make a fantastic first impression on the locals by shouting out very loudly in the middle of the street "Watch out on the roads, the Roman's are all flipping lunatics when they're behind the wheel of a car". At that point, all I could was look at the ground and pray that the fifty or so other people around us were not Roman and/or did not understand English. You can always rely on my Dad to be embarrassing at any given opportunity, and he certainly outdid himself on this occasion.

The rest of the afternoon was spent at the Fontana di Trevi (Trevi Fountain), which was so beautiful. Traditionally you are encouraged to throw coins into the fountain in the hope that in doing so, it will bring you back to Rome in the future, so we all threw in a couple of cents with this in mind.

The following day we went to The Altare della Patria, which is a stunning monument made entirely from marble and built in honour of Italy's first King, Victor Emmanuel. I spent most of the time watching my footing as we walked up endless flights of stairs, terrified I would end up falling over and cracking my head open on the marble floor. With that aside, looking out at the view from the top was most definitely one of my highlights of our trip.

My Mum and Dad decided some time before we went away to buy us 'Roma Passes' which gave us free use of the city's public transport network and admission to two landmarks of our choice without having to queue, the first of which was The Vatican Museum.

I'm not Catholic or particularly religious, but just to look at the stunning patterned ceilings, statues and sculptures made it a brilliant and very interesting afternoon.

On the same day we visited the Sistine Chapel, which was equally as beautiful with its patterned walls and painted ceilings. It was, as you might expect, a very strict environment - you needed to have your shoulders and knees covered, and were asked to be completely silent so those who wanted to pray inside the chapel could. Then again, it can't have been easy to do so given the amount of racket the security guards were making yelling "Silenzio!" ("silence") every ten seconds. I was actually tempted to shout out something about double standards but it probably would have ended with me getting thrown out.

Afterwards, we went to a gorgeous little backstreet restaurant called La Scalinata. The restaurant owner was so lovely and fitted the Italian stereotype perfectly - he was a bit like the waiter from Disney's 'The Lady and the Tramp', but less fat and without a moustache.

On Saturday we travelled back to The Vatican so we could go inside St. Peter's Basilica, which was enormous and absolutely breathtaking inside and out.

That same day we also went to The Colosseum. Inside there were artefacts, stone carvings and stories on wall plaques about the persecution of Christians and the ways in which they were punished for their beliefs - we learnt so much in such a short space of time. Although naturally, it was the outside of the Colosseum which was truly astounding - as we went exploring it was so easy to picture how it would have looked back then and imagine the immense level of sound which would have roared throughout the arena.

For lunch we picked the ideal spot opposite the Colosseum in Ristorante Al Gladiatore, which had a beautiful painting on the wall of a Roman soldier bowing down for mercy towards a female gladiator. The waiter told us a story of this female gladiator and how she was avenging her people who had been killed at the hands of these Roman soldiers.

That evening we decided to go to the Spanish Steps, where we sat for about two hours simply chatting, people-watching and soaking in the atmosphere. In spite of the crowds, busyness and noise, it was so peaceful and I felt like I could just stay there forever.

On our final day, we wandered through the markets and shops, exploring the smaller places we had missed the first time we looked around. I might have accidentally bought more jewellery - a pair of earrings and two bracelets - but I was on holiday so I was allowed. That's my naff excuse.

We sat in a cute little place called Caffè Accademia and ate the most delicious ice cream I've ever tasted - it was proper Italian ice cream. It cost an arm and a leg though, maybe even a few toes.

At this point in the trip we also worked out that my little brother Luke had eaten Margarita pizza every day for the past four days (!!).

We had reached the end of our holiday, jumped back on the plane to a not-so-sunny England and said our goodbyes to our new favourite city. All in all, it was a fantastic trip with so many memories made.

Ciao :) Nats. X

National Blood Week - Do your bit and donate

I've written about NHS Blood Donation on here a couple of times before, so you can probably tell it is an organisation which, if you'll pardon the pun, has always been very close to my heart. And since today is the first day of National Blood Week in the UK, running from 10th-16th June 2013, I thought I'd write a bit about why registering to be a blood donor could be one of the best things you could ever possibly do.

This year's campaign 'Know Blood, Give Blood' is asking donors to share the facts with as many people as they possibly can, in order to help NHS Blood Donation continue to recruit the 200,000 new donors they need every year to replace those who can no longer donate.

This is why I'm here today - to spread the word!

Did you know...?

• 96% of us rely on the other 4% of the population to donate blood

• The number of regular blood donors has fallen by 23% over the past decade

• Hospitals around the UK need around 7000 units of blood every day to treat a vast range of health issues

• Each unit of blood donated is split into its constituent parts, which means it can save up to three lives

• Over a lifetime, some blood donors can help more than 500 people through their donations!

• You can donate up to three times a year, and it takes no longer than an hour per session.

• Your blood will be used to help a variety of patients, including children suffering with leukemia or other terminal illnesses, burns victims, women giving birth and people with conditions that require regular blood transfusions

• In one session you will donate 470ml, just under one pint, of your blood. After donating you will need to rest and will be offered refreshments to avoid faintness or dizziness (a.k.a. free drinks and biscuits, woohoo)

• When you fully process what a monumental difference you have just made to another person's life, the feeling is indescribable - all I can say it is like no other!

Learn more about National Blood Week and how you can help by clicking HERE. Visit the NHS Blood Donation website for more information about eligibility and registering.

June

You'll have to excuse me; I'm typing this with a slight hangover. However, I find writing is often so therapeutic that it works as the best kind of cure, so that's why I'm here instead of hiding in a dark room under a duvet. Weird, I know, but from me are you really expecting any different?

The last few weeks have been very busy as I've been travelling back and forth from home to my Uni house for work, family events and birthdays. It's been very strange spending a few days here, a few days there, because normally I'm only in one place for fairly long periods of time. However, on Wednesday I'll be heading back home for a longer stint of 4 weeks which I'm looking forward to, especially as it means I won't be packing and unpacking my bags every 5 minutes.

Last night we had our Summer Ball which was so fantastic! Admittedly most of it is a bit of a blur, but it was brilliant to see so many of my Uni friends looking gorgeous in their dresses and smart suits coming together to celebrate the end of a mad and eventful year. On the line up we had The Hoosiers and Pendulum, who were both amazing, and Radio 1 DJ Huw Stephens and Wiley, who I unfortunately missed, but I've got it on good authority that they performed great sets as well. Because I work in the coffee shop on campus I actually bumped into a few of my colleagues who were working some of the stalls - thankfully I found a small piece of common sense when seeing my boss' boss from a distance and realising it was probably not a good idea for me to go and have a chat, bearing in mind I was not of sober/sound mind and would have ended up babbling about all kinds of nonsense. I have no clue where this piece of common sense sprung from, but I'd be very grateful if it started to make an appearance more often in my day to day life. All in all, it was the perfect way to round off my second year.

On Tuesday, my housemate Vic and I went to an event called Tune In To Volunteering to collect awards for the volunteering we've done for our University, and we had a really lovely afternoon. It was all quite sophisticated and civilised (an environment which I'm obviously not naturally accustomed to) but it all ran smoothly with very few hiccups and moments of stupidity on my part, with the exception of me walking into one of the poles that was holding up the marquee, but I can't be held accountable for that; it was definitely the pole's fault.

There was a broad selection of people there who had completed so many fantastic acts of charity and volunteering - it really was an honour to be amongst them. Vic and I met a lovely guy called Adam who had been working with Age UK for three years and was being awarded for his 510 hours of volunteering with them. It was brilliant to see someone so humble and others like him be recognised and congratulated for such amazing work.

Finally, I've been asked to do a shout-out (or something of that kind fit for a blog post) to the fantastic people I work with - they're a mad lot and drive me crazy sometimes but I love them all. I'm not going to list all your names like you asked me to as there's bound to be whinging of "why was I listed last", "why was so-and-so first" etc., but just to say HELLO and you're all super.

Enjoy the rest of June you lovely lot.

Nats. X

The Great Gatsby film review.

I've never written a film review before, which you will probably realise once you've finished reading today’s post. The closest I've got to writing anything remotely similar is a book report at school – the classic summer holiday homework which is forced upon primary school children and met with the same overwhelming hatred as eating vegetables and enduring Sunday night bath time before school the next day.

However, last Friday evening I went to see The Great Gatsby, arguably one of the most anticipated films of this year so far, and since then I have been contemplating writing a little bit about it, especially since the movie has already been subject to much criticism both hot and cold from every possible direction. I had no intention of writing about the film before I actually watched it, so I'm trying my very best to work from memory. If you would like to read a more accurate review, I recommend giving Robbie Collin's one a go, especially as it is far more articulately written than mine.

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Adapting a novel to a screen play is a bit like tightrope walking: not everybody can do it, baby steps are a must, parts are plain sailing and wobbles are always guaranteed along the way. What you're greeted with when you reach the other side is another matter entirely.

With a trio of past cinematic catastrophes behind it, Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby hit screens this week and I for one was more skeptical than most. Indeed, it is baffling that for such a famous novel, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s classic text has never truly reached its full potential on the big screen after falling short in the 1926, 1949 and 1974 adaptations. The transition from text to film has never been easy, granted – lines are messed about with and there are almost always scenes missing. It was too late for Gatsby's “third time lucky”, but I had been left wondering whether Luhrmann had found fortune in the number four.

The novel is in actual fact a personal favourite of mine. I had fallen head over heels with Fitzgerald’s sensational interpretation of the glitz and the glamour, the frivolity of money and the enchanting, laissez-faire demeanor of the post-war generation. But beneath the surface, 1920s America was corrupt, decadent and damaged. For this film to be a success, a director would have to fully capture the density of this premise and simultaneously deliver a storyline of great complexity. No pressure then.

The film is, without a doubt, an optical masterpiece. Luhrmann’s utilisation of colour and texture is so gorgeous that it is difficult not to appreciate the meticulousness and attention-to-detail which clearly went into formulating such authentic costumes, props and scenery. Fitzgerald’s synaesthetic language is enough to make you fall in love with this fantastical, if contrived, environment, but it is Luhrmann who brings these imaginings to life for a modern audience.

And yet to quote the book, "life is much more successfully looked at from a single window". This film is not without fault, and character portrayal is a big problem. Tobey Maguire’s Nick Carraway was good, his awkwardness captured well, but Luhrmann's decision to place the character in a different setting at the start of the film just did not work.

Carey Mulligan’s performance was equally problematic. Fitzgerald's Daisy is selfish, ignorant and careless, but with Mulligan we see a defenseless, confused woman, trapped in a loveless, violent marriage and warped by the materialism around her. She becomes the victim rather than the perpetrator, despite the fact she is the one in the driving seat, quite literally, initiating the demise of certain characters. The Great Gatsby is supposed to be the great American novel without any truly great characters, but this is something Luhrmann clearly chose to overlook.

I admit I didn't mind this movie. It is, however, Luhrmann’s controversial approach which leaves me wondering whether I would have enjoyed this film more if it had been under the direction of somebody else. Indeed, it would have been interesting to see a focus on the corruption of American society, or the role of Nick as secret keeper. It is important to remember that Gatsby is not just a love story.

Without Luhrmann, on the other hand, would this film lose authenticity without the stunning visual beauty which this director captured so impeccably? I very much doubt it, and we cannot have it both ways.

At least with previous film adaptations in mind, it is without question that Luhrmann’s Gatsby is “worth the whole damn bunch put together”.

Age isn't just a number in the world of radio.

If you enjoy listening to music, you probably enjoy listening to the radio. Regardless of age, gender, ethnicity or sexuality, the radio is and always will be thought of as one of the most popular and accessible sources of entertainment in the 21st century.

Pop princess Rihanna quite rightly states in Capital FM’s latest advertising campaign that it actually stands as “the middleman” between a musician and their fans. The radio offers listeners the opportunity to discover new music and reminisce with the old. It offers the chance to explore different genres and grasp a true sense of what you enjoy and what you don’t. It offers an escape from reality, a fast ticket to freedom far away from the stress and troubles of our day to day lives. (Too deep? I’m an English student, unfortunately that’s the way my mind works).

It is for this reason that I question the motives behind The BBC Trust’s new scheme to drive out the older, long-time lovers of popular UK radio station Radio 1 in order to lower the age of the average listener, which was last year revealed to be 32. As a result, the BBC have been working tirelessly to attract a much younger audience of 15-29 year olds, bringing in an array of new, younger presenters, including T4’s Jameela Jamil and YouTube sensations Dan Howell and Phil Lester.

Jameela Jamil hosts The Official Chart Show on Sunday afternoons

The station also saw the hugely popular radio veteran Chris Moyles axed, with the younger Nick Grimshaw taking his place on the breakfast show. In addition, Radio 1 was given a fresh and distinctive revamp, with the playlist now featuring a larger variety of drum & bass, dubstep and dance music in the hope of connecting with the younger generation and encouraging older listeners to switch off. Seemingly, The BBC does not see age as just a number, but instead an indicator which determines your right to listen to the music they broadcast.

Change can sometimes be a good thing, and if the BBC station wants to change, they have every right to.

However, surely the true purpose of radio shouldn't be about branding, labelling or maintaining a ‘cool’ and young image and reputation. Primarily, it is the music which is more important, regardless of who is listening to it. Why should your music taste rely upon how long you've been on the planet? If a 78 year old Grandmother enjoys singing along to Beyoncé on Radio 1 while she’s knitting this year’s collection of Christmas jumpers, she has just as much right as any teenager who’s listening while they’re doing their homework. The BBC is a tax-funded service; if the British public are the ones paying the license fee, they should be able to tune into anything they choose to.

Radio 1 might be struggling with their ongoing battle to cut their older audience, but with veteran DJ’s such as Annie Nightingale, Pete Tong and Tim Westwood still on the air, they’re blatantly shooting themselves in the foot. Combined, these three have a career spanning nearly 100 years at Radio 1, which just goes to prove that you don’t need to be young to appreciate new music.

Regardless of where the station is steered next, it would be an understatement to say that Radio 1 Controller Ben Cooper has a monumental task on his hands, though he's clearly only a puppet with the suits above pulling the strings.

Would the circumstances be any different if Andy Parfitt, who left the station in 2011, were still in charge?

Perhaps not.